


Through Your Eyes, I See

by earthbereconciled



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blind AU, Blogger!Stiles, High School AU, Human AU, M/M, Sciles, blind!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthbereconciled/pseuds/earthbereconciled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New school, new me. Kind of. Not really. More like same me, different school, and a new level of shitty eyes - but hey, I'm lucky to be here. But that's not what this post is about; getting myself nearly killed isn't exactly an experience I'd like to retell. So let's just lay down the basic facts:</p>
<p>1) My seven month hiatus from this blog? Yeah, some serious shit went on there. But just like fight club, we don't talk about it.<br/>2) Still me.<br/>3) New school.<br/>4) I'm blind.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Or in which Stiles runs a semi-famous anonymous blog. After being assaulted at his old high school's junior prom, he and his father make the move from Florida to California. Cue a newly blinded guy trying to navigate his way around an entirely new place and boom, you've got Stiles Stilinski - the new kid who really has no clue what the hell he's doing. That is, until a certain lacrosse team co-captain comes along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Posted: August 29, 2014, 6:00am PST_

Hey, hi, hello. It's me. Long time no see, eh? I'll get you all up to speed soon, don't worry. I moved, yay? And I turned seventeen while I was gone, that's super fucking sick. So here I am, little old me, in a completely new place - it's time for California dreamin', baby.

New school, new me. Kind of. Not really. More like same me, different school, and a new level of shitty eyes, but hey - I'm lucky to be here. But that's not what this post is about; getting myself nearly killed isn't exactly an experience I'd like to retell. So let's just lay down the basic facts: 

1) My seven month hiatus from this blog? Yeah, some serious hit happened there. But just like fight club, we don't talk about it. 2) Still me. 3) New school. 4) I'm blind. 

I'm not going to get too far into it, but the facts are these - at my old school's prom, I was attacked. (And no, not by lips. Sadly.) It was more like... full on brawl, and I'm not saying that for dramatic effect. So to any of my attackers reading this entry, hiya. Hey. How's it going? I really want to use this one saying, but it's not technically correct... 

To hell with it. I'm gonna say it anyway. 

You really put the fucking _ass_ in assassin, guys. Like, no joke, you are some serious try-hard pieces of shit. Sorry the jury didn't find the case serious enough to put you on trial as minors because I couldn't testify but hey, I had places to be (mostly in a coma; thanks for that). Have an AWESOME senior year, you fucking dipshits. ~~I hope you get hit by several eighteen wheelers for your birthdays - one wheel for every sad year of your existence.~~

Anyway. I'm starting at a new school today, and life's decently okay. I mean, I can't see, but I've gotten used to it by now. Hopefully my new classmates won't be freaked out (but who are we kidding, they totally will be). Just to be on the safe side, I made my dad buy me shades to wear. If they can't see my fucked up eyes, maybe they'll play nice. 

I'm not really expecting much out of this small town, but I guess I'll have to just wait and see. (You're allowed to laugh at that, cruel hot is some of the finest shit on this planet.) I'm writing this SUPER FUCKING FAST before my dad comes in and tells me to get ready for school, but yeah. Thank the stars for Braille keyboards and voiced autocorrect. I'm not really excited to start at this new place, but anywhere's better than my old one. I'll post about my first day later if you want, once I get home. 

(Let's hope I don't fall all over myself. My cane can only go so far in unfamiliar settings.) 

Here's to new beginnings, and to not giving a flying shit. 

_~ S_


	2. Chapter 2

No one warned the Stilinskis about Beacon Hills traffic - it was practically nonexistent, in all places _except_ for, you fucking guessed it, the school. Police cruiser and all, the sheriff is driving his son in, reports coming in on the radio as he drives through the automobile hell that is the visitor parking lot. Talk about an entrance. Stiles is already ten minutes late by the time his father locates a viable parking spot because, _Traffic laws are traffic laws, Stiles, and my authority doesn't change that._ When John cuts the engine, Stiles can practically hear the wheels turning in his dad's head. And that's when he knows it's coming, the whole new school briefing Stiles has been subjected to hearing on repeat for the past week and a half. 

The blind boy runs long fingers along the band of his seat belt, following the stretchy fabric until he locates the end. He manages to press the button and successfully release the mechanism after three tries -- it's progress. 

Stiles mentally blocks out his father's words as he fumbles for the lock on the car door beside him. His fingertips find the curved metal switch after a few seconds of seemingly aimless searching, and he flicks it, a small wave of triumph coursing through his veins. This is the first time he's managed to successfully complete the task without accidentally pressing the lever just to the left of the lock and lowering the window instead. 

"Stiles? Maybe I should come in with you," the sheriff states just as his son is pushing on the door. But John has reinstated the lock, effortlessly unraveling Stiles' hard work in a matter of a split second. 

Stiles let's out a defeated grumble, lips forming incoherent words as he roughly leans back against his seat. The movement causes the small police cruiser to shake lightly. Everything's new here, sure, and though it really is a challenge, Stiles would much rather knock into countless people and inanimate objects and return home with battle scars than partake in a literal, paternally guided nightmare. If his dad decides to accompany him, he'll look like even more of a charity case than he would already seem like. 

Sure, he's ditched the buzz cut for a longer hairstyle and his features have sharpened as he's reached the cusp of adulthood, but Stiles is still too tall and unbelievably clumsy. With the newly added special feature of being without eyesight, he hasn't had the best track record for staying on his feet. 

"Dad. Daddio. Padre. _No_ ," Stiles declares loudly, his voice filling the car. "I get the deal. Be safe. Don't do drugs. Keep my cane on me at all times, and avoid being attacked by the rabid hockey team. I get it, I'm all good, so will you please just let me-" Stiles has been shoving at the door, and it falls open suddenly, his father having unlocked it without proper warning. He prevents himself from falling out, but lets out a frustrated sigh. 

"Wow. Thanks, you're the best. Open the door without warning your blind son; maybe he'll get some impromptu face carvings from the pavement so he can blend in with the crowd." Stiles' words are strung together in one single breath, his tone practically oozing sarcasm. John has to take a moment to decipher what the hell just spouted out of his son's mouth. Seizing his opportunity, Stiles grips the frame of the door, pushing himself up into a standing position outside the car. 

"Stiles-" 

"Love you too, Dad, have an awesome day. Don't be a buzz kill. Stay away from the burgers. Catch some bad guys. Make some busts. See you at three." Stiles unfolds his cane and swings his backpack over his shoulder. Clad in red fitted jeans, a black Nirvana tee, and beat up Chuck Taylors, the seventeen year old proceeds away from the car. He's not too keen on direction (he hasn't really had the chance to become a human compass), but he walks quickly in the direction of what he guesses is towards the school, eyes concealed behind his shades and cane rhythmically clicking against the pavement. 

Oh, yeah. He's cool. Cue the slow-mo camera pan because he's got this; he's going to take this place by storm. Stiles motherfucking badass Stilinski, literal fucking cool kid on the block. He can feel eyes practically searing into his back, but fuck it, let them stare. He wouldn't be surprised if they're gaping, catching flies in their mouths because they're so fucking impressed beyond their wildest dreams. Stiles Stilinski, blind badass in the making. They probably think he's the epitome of cool because he's -- 

_colliding into someone's car. Smooth._

"Hey, watch it, Stevie Wonder. The paint on this thing is worth more than your whole existence." A sharp voice sounds and Stiles winces. Yup. He's just officially encountered Asshole Number One. _Fan-fucking-tastic._

"Wow, really?" Stiles feigns shock, fascination, eyebrows lifting just above the frames of his sunglasses. "Mind if I take a peek?" His lips pull into a smirk and he reaches his cane out, poking at the side of what Stiles can only assume is a really pricey car - it would fit this guy's whole arrogant vibe quite nicely. A metallic click sounds at the impact, and Stiles hums. "Hm. Feels kinda dingy to me." He shrugs before whirling around to face the opposite direction, beginning to walk away, a smirk seeking residence on his pink lips. He hopes, prays, that his cane left a big nasty scratch. People are murmuring, and Stiles' smirk grows. 

Maybe, _maybe_ if he wasn't so busy being a smug little shit he'd hear the feet circling around him and be able to dodge the fist that firmly plows into his jaw. 

Okay, note to Stiles - never mess with Asshole Number One's moving pile of fancy trash. 

"Hm. Feels kind of dingy to me," the ass echos, and Stiles can hear the sickening crack of his knuckles. "A word of advice from me to you, loser; haul your invalid ass somewhere it's wanted." Stiles flinches at the close proximity of the threatening tone. He doesn't bode well with situations like this. Before he can open his mouth to make a snarky remark he's being tugged away by a hand firmly closed around his wrist. Stiles considers fighting back, shoulders tensing and chest tightening. 

Every instinct within his body is screaming to kick, to fight, because the last time he's been dragged like this was to the back of a school parking lot to have the shit beat out of him. He's grounded however, by a call of, "Go fuck yourself, Jackson," from the new voice. Still, he remains tense, tugging slightly at the other's grip. The other boy is strong though, for Stiles' halfhearted efforts don't phase him. 

"Hey, I'm _fine_ ," Stiles protests as he's pulled across the parking lot, cane hanging uselessly by his side. "Let go of me. My dad's the sheriff. I can stick him and his officers on your ass." It's an empty threat because, well, Stiles has no clue who the hell this is. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." The voice is warmer towards him, losing the bite of ice it had possessed moments earlier. The boy's grip becomes less forceful and more... gentle. "But Jackson, he was about to do more damage. He's an asshole. I'm sorry you had to deal with him." 

Stiles sighs, yanking his wrist out of the stranger's grip. "I can handle myself, thanks. And I was handling myself fine back there, too." Stiles ignores the snort he hears from the boy. He has a real aversion for being pegged as helpless, and right now this guy was really crossing that line. "So if you'd kindly just leave me alone, I'd appreciate it. I don't take kindly to people who drag me places. Ever." He hears the other boy begin to speak before footsteps approach. "Hey, Scott, who's this?" Okay, now's his chance. While the boy who'd taken him, _Scott_ , tries to explain the situation to who Stiles assumes is a friend, Stiles places his cane to the ground. He notes how it's now smooth - they must be inside. He let's out a dignified huff before beginning his journey down the hall, the crowd parting to allow him through, his cane tapping to the rhythm of a brand new day. A brand new _abysmal_ day, at that. 

Stiles goes through his day shakily. He runs into walls and people, and eventually takes to navigating by running his fingertips along the wall instead, his cane held in his free hand. He denies all offers to help him -- he's a big boy; he can do things himself. Granted, he barely scrapes by and he's gained countless bruises beneath his clothing, but he survives his classes. Perhaps he hasn't made any friends, but right now Stiles doesn't have time for that anyway. He's got a whole floorplan to memorize by step numbers and degrees of angles, as well as Braille books to order for classes. The last thing on his mind right now is bridging the social gap, because who the hell would want to be friends with a blind kid anyway? 

After a day spent trying to prevent teachers from attempting to say his real name, catching up in classes, and fending for himself in the halls, Stiles manages to navigate his way out to the parking lot once more. He listens for his name being called; Stiles had established with his father this morning that using the sirens on the cruiser is a huge no-no. The last thing he needs is for more people to notice him - though he's pretty sure the whole school's been staring at him all day anyway. 

"Stiles!" He hears his name on his father's voice and makes his way in that direction, numerous cars beeping their horns at him as he crosses their paths. If Stiles had the energy to, he probably would have told them to go honk themselves up a tree. He finally reaches his dad's cruiser and ducks inside. All questions about his first day are answered vaguely, and in regards to the bruise on his jaw, Stiles simply blames his locker door. 

"Did you make any friends?" his father asks as they pull into the driveway of their new house. He crosses around the front of the car once it's parked and opens the door for Stiles, knowing his son most likely had a very stressful day. He figures he's doing his son a favor, eliminating the frustration of trying to find the switches necessary to unlock and open the passenger side door. It seems to do nothing, however, to lessen Stiles' blank, detached expression. John knows his son well enough to know that this is just another tactic to remain guarded, to avoid being vulnerable. 

"Yeah, Dad. Sure. Whatever floats your boat," Stiles mutters as he hoists his backpack onto his shoulder and ventures into the house. He trips on the front step on his way in, muttering a string of mild expletives as he crosses the living room and enters his own room. A distinctive slam of his son's bedroom door can be heard from outside the house and the sheriff lets out a quiet breath of air, bringing a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. 

He'll take that as a 'no'. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, chapter number two, woo! It's raining so I figured I'd put my time indoors to good use.
> 
> In these omniscient chapters, I'm going to be employing 'pan and zoom', which is basically showing scenes of importance for longer before moving along in a more descriptive, quick manner. This is because each chapter following a narrative one like this will be a blog entry, and I feel it'd be terribly redundant to have everything restated and no new information introduced. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, guys! I hope you're enjoying it so far!


	3. Chapter 3

_Published: August 29, 2014 5:38pm PST_

Let me tell you a thing about new schools. They fucking suck. So, surprise surprise, my first day was pretty damn shitty. I mean, some guy punched me. (I'm hoping that's some kind of initiation that everyone's gone through here, but I'm thinking not.)

On the bright side, though, the school has a pretty basic layout. It's kind of this big L shape, and the second floor's kind of in this figure eight configuration. Tomorrow I'll pay more attention to step numbers and shit. Today was kind of just a 'keep your hand on the wall and try to avoid pissing anyone else off' kind of day. And let's just put it out there bluntly... I did a shitty job of that. I wish I could say my first day was awesome and breathtakingly magnificent, but this is my blog. On my blog, I've made a very conscious decision not to lie, mostly because lying is for asshats and I don't plan on becoming a topping accessory for someone's behind. (Enjoy that image while you can, folks.) But really, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Today sucked balls. And not even _good >_ balls at that. I mean, sure, I survived and shit, but my first day was no miraculous scene out of a high school themed movie. There was no gorgeously unrealistically attractive students (as far as I know), and I'm pretty sure there's no such thing as walking in on your first day to a soundtrack of all of the greatest 80's rock hits. We all wish it could be a thing, but it isn't. One, because I literally cannot afford to have earbuds detracting from my attention to the world around me, and two, because hell, people are awful. And expecting your day to go as well as the awesome vibes given off from Starship's _'We Built This City'_ would only be inviting disappointment into your life. Who needs more of that, am I right? Not me. Holy hell, not me.

The first friend I made today, who I'd much rather call a fucking prick than anything else, just so happened to be this really stuck up asshole. Let's call him Jackson, and I swear that may or may not be a code name. So, this Jackson character literally made a Stevie Wonder joke as soon as I started walking across the parking lot. Naturally, I'm not gonna just let it slide. But, I did let one thing slide - his fist, into my face. Nice. As you can tell, I got a very warm welcome here at this place. The people already adore me. I'm all the rage, seriously. The chicks dig me; the dudes want to be me. I fucking wish. It's more like they're digging me a premature grave. All except for, like, two. 

Let's call the first one Scott. Earlier today, before J could pummel me into a human meatball, Scott acted upon his heroic instincts and led me away. Seriously, that dude saved my freaking ass. And, I'm not going to lie, he seemed really nice. Too nice. Which is a problem, because I'm a sucker for sweethearts like him. I know my dad keeps saying we're staying here until I graduate, but I'm finding it really difficult to actually accept that. Sure, I've lived in a few places here and there, but consistency has never been a particularly strong presence in my life. Sure, my name and home life have remained relatively constant, but everything else is completely arbitrary based upon the circumstance. The last thing I want to let myself do is develop feelings - even those of platonic appreciation - towards someone who, admittedly, I might end up leaving abruptly. Because, take my word for it, goodbyes suck. (Especially permanent ones.) But anyway, S saved my ass from being handed to me by Jackson. I should've thanked him, but I was kind of shaken up... I don't like people thinking I'm helpless. It's just this pet peeve I have, and kind of a fear too, that the rest of the world will only see me as 'that poor blind kid', instead of 'that cool dude who's semi-maybe-normal'. I didn't get to talk to Scott much after that short encounter in the morning, but based on his voice and touch, he seemed like a really warm and inviting guy. Someone that, yeah, okay, maybe I can see myself getting to know a little better. (Despite what you're thinking, I'm still not sure if this is a good or bad thing. I guess I'll just find out eventually, huh?) 

Next comes Isaac, who coincidentally is one of Scott's close friends. I got lost between fourth and fifth period, and Isaac was nice enough to show me around a little. He's kind of quieter and reserved, but he had a lot to say about Scott. Something about him being on the lacrosse team, as well as working at the veterinary clinic most weekdays and weekends (who doesn't love a guy with a soft side?). I couldn't really tell by his tone, but I _suspect_ Isaac was trying to put a good word in for his friend. Then again, I can assume things horribly wrong, so don't take my word on that. I'll just... keep you updated. But, the gist of this bit is that I actually met someone who doesn't want to drive me out of the town today, whose first question to me wasn't, "So how'd it happen?", but rather, "I heard you're a sarcastic piece of shit. I hope that's true. Is it?" I don't know much about Isaac, but I do know the dude has some serious home issues. When I asked him about his life here on our way to my class, he got really, really quiet. I'm not sure if I should ask him about it, what with this being my first day and all, but... I think, if our acquaintance ever amounts to anything else, I might just nudge in a few helpful tips. I haven't had huge home problems for a while, but middle school was a rough time for my dad and I. As stupid as it might sound, I might be able to help the guy out a little bit. It seems like he could need it. But, knowing even the littlest bit I've gathered about Scott, Isaac's probably well taken care of. I'm not sure why I really care anyway; for all I know the dude could hate my guts. And honestly, if he did, I wouldn't blame him. I just have that annoyingly shitty vibe to me. 

After fifth period came lunch. Surprise, surprise, I had no fucking clue where the cafeteria was. I skipped it; it was easier than trying to flag someone down to ask directions. When you can't see the people around you, trying to flag someone down involves a 99.9% chance of nailing someone in the face by accident. So, I kind of just spent my lunch period outside of my next class (which I found on my own, hell yeah!). It wasn't the most eventful or exciting thing ever, but at least I didn't have to deal with the cafeteria traffic afterwards. I'm going to have to figure out what to do about all of it though, because I'm not sure how long I can navigate this fucking place without a guide. I mean, I'd like to just do it myself all the time, but the ever changing factors of the hallways and stuff make it very difficult for me to actually stay on my A game. ~~Maybe if I drop hints, Scott would agree to showing me around. Just for a little while. Possibly. Maybe.~~

At the moment, my social life is kind of a spectator sport. Overall, it was a pretty shitty day. The school was so fucking hot and sticky thanks to the awesome helping hand of humidity and summer weather. I swear, the air was like fucking pudding in this place - and _not_ the good kind. Do me a favor and write to all the higher powers 'up there' asking to save me from another day of this torture. Because I swear, I doubt I'll even last the week. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Don't get too excited, because I highly doubt I'll have positive things to add up in this joint. Just putting that out there. 

Hooray for shitty days! ...Not. 

_~ S_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the large gap in posting times! School's started for me, and life's pretty hectic! I've decided on a posting schedule. Every Friday night will be a new pair of chapters - one prose, and one blog entry. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you guys enjoy! The prose chapter for tonight should be up soon (but maybe early tomorrow because it's past midnight now). As always, your comments and kudos are so, so appreciated!!


	4. Chapter 4

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." His father's words sent Stiles' eyes rolling, a scoff sounding from his lips. Stiles knew he was trying to help, to show his son the positives in a sea of negativity - but that was precisely the thing. Of positives, there were none. After shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, Stiles spoke, fingertips gently tracing along the metallic surface of his spoon.

"Yeah, Dad, but no one ever tells you that sometimes that lemonade's gonna taste like shit." Cue another colossal bite of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, also known as the best tasting cereal in the history of the world. Stiles savored the sugary cinnamon coating of the small squares, noting how the vanilla almond milk pulled together the palate quite nicely. Almond milk. Yup. In light of his father's heart condition, Stiles had pushed for some dietary changes, not that John was particularly thrilled about it. John takes a sip of his coffee, humming slightly.

"True, true. They don't. But shit-tasting lemonade is still lemonade, Stiles. At least you've got some."

"Yeah, well..." Stiles simply pushed away from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. He picked up his cane from where it sat in his lap, unfolding it in one swift motion. Nimble fingers twirled the metallic rod for a few seconds with a practiced ease. "I'll see you in the car." Stiles set off down the hall, cane tapping rhythmically in front of him. It was strange, having to use the device in his own home, but boxes were still being unpacked and moved - he'd rather be safe than sorry. He scooped up his backpack from where he'd left it the night before and let himself out of the front door, letting it fall shut behind him.

Day two. Fucking magnificent.

* * *

 

His first few classes went relatively smoothly. Isaac had waited for Stiles to arrive in the main lobby, and it was actually kind of nice, having a potential friend to talk to. Their conversations ranged from video games to world politics, and they even got to talking about Scott. Stiles found it strange, how Isaac kept finding ways to relate Scott to the topic they discussed, but he decided to internalize the question and ask later.

"So, you think pretty highly of Scott, huh?" Stiles asked as they made their way towards the cafeteria. He'd been planning on skipping again, but Isaac had insisted that he be introduced to the  _full_ Beacon Hills experience. Apparently, that included the echoing hall of mayhem known as the lunch room, and Stiles would be pushing it if he said he was even so close as indifferent to the place. Walking in was like hitting a brick wall of sound: chairs scraping, people laughing, a constant roar of a billion conversations taking place at once. It was overwhelming in presence, but underwhelming in prospect.

"You okay?" Isaac asked after a moment. It was only then that Stiles realized he'd been grimacing, his feet having stilled against the tile flooring.

"Fine," he answered without hesitation, wiping all expression from his face. "Just keep walking."

Eventually, Isaac brought them to a table that was approximately 30 steps from the doorway - Stiles counted. He reached out, fingers closing around a chair before he pulled it out, intent on sitting. Chuckles were heard around him, and it caused him to freeze.

"Hey, if you want to sit on Scott's lap, go for it. Half the student body does, too." It was a new voice, a girl. The smile in her tone was evident, but Stiles felt his cheeks go red anyway. Of course he'd find a way to make a fool of himself. His grip on his cane tightened and he managed a forced smile. It felt more like a cringe.

"No, hey, no worries. Let me just grab you a chair." Scott rose from his chair, giving Stiles' hand that still rested on the back of the chair a gentle pat. Stiles managed a halfhearted chuckle, his smile faltering. What was with this guy? He was challenging Stiles' world views that chivalry was dead, and that was beyond not okay. Stiles stood still for a moment, fingertips drumming on the plastic of Scott's chair as he awaited the other's return. He allowed his thoughts to consume him, pondering the idea of making more friends, of actually finding a niche here. It was strange, knowing that people actually wanted him around, and not lying half-dead on the pavement.

"A chair for you, kind sir." Scott's warm voice jolted Stiles back to the present, and he couldn't help but smile. Genuinely smile, because his greeting was so dorky - almost as dorky as Stiles himself.

"Thanks," he mumbled, reaching back to take it from Scott and situate himself at the table. Scott pulled it out of reach, instead placing it beside where Stiles stood. He reached out, a hand resting on Stiles' shoulder. 

"This way," he said softly, gently guiding Stiles towards the seat. Said boy tensed with the unexpected touch, muscles going rigid as he found his way into the seat. He didn't bother thanking Scott a second time; his touch had been unwarranted and unwelcome. Stiles felt Scott sit back down beside him, but he refused to address him again. He spent the remainder of the lunch period fiddling with his cane, head bowed and heart racing. The scars on his shoulder tingled where Scott had touched him, and he couldn't tell if it was due to the memories associated with them, or the softness of Scott's hold.

_He could remember the strokes of the knife like it was yesterday._

He bit his lip, fingers shaking as they held fast to his cane. He couldn't panic, not here, not now. While the others continued talking, Stiles stood abruptly, stumbling over the back leg of his chair before pacing quickly out of the lunchroom. _1 step, 2 steps... 29, 30._ As he reached the doorway and rounded the corner he could hear Scott calling his name.

* * *

 

Stiles spent the rest of the day sitting in the bathroom. With the toilet seat down and his knees hugged to his chest, he focused on leveling his breathing, stopping the tears from trailing down his cheeks. It was stupid, panicking over  _Scott_. He'd just been trying to help, yet his touch had roused so many suppressed emotions, so many memories Stiles had spent  _months_ trying to bury.

 _It started with a shout. A simple, "Hey there, faggot!"_ Stiles should have run, should have ducked back into the school, but he'd been stupid. He'd been too prideful.

_"Hey there, asshole. How you faring? Pissed off because your date ditched you for the high road?" Hazel eyes set firmly on his verbal target, lips tugged into a slight smirk. His question prompted a shove backwards, his dress shoes scuffing against the pavement. Tall and lanky, Stiles' balance was compromised. He went down in a mess of limbs, and the other boy laughed, joined by the chorus of assholes beside him._

His breathing hitched, and Stiles pressed his hands to his eyes, willing the flashback to stop. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." The images kept coming. The sounds, the cracks of bones against shoes and fists... The flick of a switchblade, the excruciating pain as it sliced through pale flesh, spelling out a six-letter word across his chest.

_"You like it," one of the boys spat as he rounded a punch to Stiles' nose. He let out a sob, blood beginning to gush from his nostrils and dribble down his lips, past his chin. "You gay son of a bitch."_

Shaking fingers found their way to his head, grappling at his hair, tugging nervously. Stiles needed this to end. Swallowing a whimper, he stood, knuckles white where they gripped his cane. The final bell rang, and he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. As he burst out of the bathroom and walked hurriedly outside, a certain olive-skinned boy watched from his locker, chocolate eyes softening with concern and guilt.

His father called out his location as Stiles descended the front steps, nearly tripping over his own feet in his frantic attempt to get out of there as fast as fucking possible. He yanked open the passenger side door, and ducked to get into the car. His forehead smacked on the roof, prompting a hiss from his lips. Stiles then tried once more, able to properly get into the car on his second try. John's eyebrows lifted with shock and concern as he recognized the remnants of tears on his son's face, and the redness that rimmed his pale amber eyes.

Stiles tugged the door shut and buckled his seat belt without a word. 

"Stiles -" John shifted, a hand reaching over to rest on Stiles' knee. It was meant to be a comfort, but Stiles angled himself away from his father, resting his forehead against the cool glass. His hands curled into fists at his sides and his shoulders hunched, Stiles managed to speak but one word before the tears began to glide down his cheeks once more.

" _Drive_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been... a while. Wow. I'm so sorry for letting this fade to the background, guys! I've been swamped with schoolwork and the like. I can't promise a regular posting schedule, seeing as school's about to pick up again, but I do hope you'll continue reading! Thanks for bearing with me! :) Also! Ignore the note below this one; I don't know how to get that off of here. Have a lovely day!


	5. Author's Note: On My Absence, Future Updates

Hey guys,

It's been a hot minute since I've last logged in and addressed my work on here. Since my last update, I've moved on to uni and, well, it's been hectic to say the least. That being said, in the spirit of Teen Wolf soon continuing its sixth (and last) season, I've decided to begin updating this fic once again.

As it's been quite a while, you can expect some changes in trajectory. This was a work-in-progress, publish-as-I-wrote type of story and, because of that, updates may be fairly irregular. I would like to optimistically say I can get an update out every other week, but with holding an actual job this summer, it'll be a bit tricky. Thank you for bearing with me, and for tolerating my very long absence. It means a lot to me that this fic has gained momentum even while I've been gone. I'm excited to continue this journey with you all.

You can expect 1-2 new chapters by Sunday night. Before I dive in, however, I'd like to ask a few questions so I can best tailor the fic to create the best reader experience.

  1. Would you like me to keep operating in the paired chapter manner: a chapter of in-the-moment events followed by an entry? Or would you rather have the entries be more periodic, and the story be primarily driven by Stiles' experiences, rather than his blog?  
  

  2. I've been considering jumping ahead in the narrative a bit. Would you be in favor of this, or would you rather have it continue at the slow pace it's been progressing?



  
Please feel free to give me your opinions in the comments below -- I'd love to hear from you guys. I'm looking forward to getting this up and running again, and I can't wait to hear what you have to say about it. Thank you for your patience!

 

\-- earthbereconciled

**Author's Note:**

> This fic's going to be formatted in a back-and-forth sort of manner. Every other chapter will be a blog entry, staggered out with omniscient segments. I'm posting this on mobile while on vacation, so I apologize for any typos I've overlooked! Let me know what you think in the comments; I'd love to hear your thoughts so far. The next chapter should be up as soon as later today. Thanks for reading, guys!! 
> 
> (Just a head's up, I was formerly lanallamaduck on here. I changed my username to the URL of my Stiles indie blog.)


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